


Until We're Dust

by TheWalkingGrimes



Series: Tales of District Four [25]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: (Annie this time), Ableism, But it is extremely vague, But it's rated M for some very brief ugliness while Annie is in the Capitol, F/M, I swear this is a sweet story though, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Marriage Proposal, Mostly Sweet, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingGrimes/pseuds/TheWalkingGrimes
Summary: Finnick gives Annie his mother's ring.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Series: Tales of District Four [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018845
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Until We're Dust

“Mags really is the most stubborn person I have met in my life.”

They’re sitting on the couch, curled up in front of the fire, and Annie is trying to pay attention to whatever Finnick’s telling her in his beleaguered and dramatic way, but it’s difficult when his hand that isn’t currently holding hers is tracing an intricate pattern on her ribcage under her shirt.

“How so?” She asks him, keeping her voice steady and her face straight. 

“Every time she gets it into her head that she wants to rearrange something, she has to try it herself first. _Every time!_ And then she pulls something, or hurts something, and ends up having to call me over to move it anyway. And every time I tell her, ‘Mags, don’t move heavy things by yourself, you’re too old’ and then she yells at me in Español and tells me she isn’t old I’m just a fetus and she just wants to pretend that she didn’t have a _stroke_ last year and it’s all so frustrating. I hope I’m not like that when I’m her age.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will be.” Annie muses with a giggle, teasing: “You take after her, after all.”

 _“Great.”_ His hand moves higher, almost absentmindedly, and Annie scoots closer to him.

“It’s alright, when we’re old and grey I’ll make sure to remind you of this conversation and force you to call over the young strapping man next door to move furniture.”

Finnick’s eyes suddenly snap to hers, face serious and inquiring. 

“You mean that? You really want us to be together when we’re old and grey?”

Annie pulls up their intertwined hands, kissing at his knuckles as she admits, “I want us to be together even when we’re ancient and white. I want us to be together until we’re dust.”

An odd look crosses over his face, like it can’t decide if it wants to be a smile or a frown. “You know I probably won’t be only yours _until_ we’re old and grey, right? Or at least until they tire of me.”

“Finnick, I don’t care.” She cares, of course she _cares,_ and she wants him to be free more than she wants air sometimes. But this is a conversation they’ve skirted around before and she knows what he means. “I’d rather have a life in private with the love of my life than one I can live in public with anyone else.”

Life in public is overrated anyway. As much as it frustrates Annie to have to hide, it’s almost worse thinking of what it would be like if everyone knew about them. The spectacle the cameras would make of their romance, their intimate lives plastered everywhere for the public to see. Even if Snow released Finnick tomorrow and decided he didn’t give a damn about Finnick’s love life, the rest of the country would still feel entitled to it.

“We can’t marry.” He tells her, and his expression has settled into a sad smile as he tucks her hair behind her ear. “Not even in secret, it would be too risky. If it ever got out -”

“Do you want to?” Annie blurts out, in a voice that comes out higher pitched and more breathless than she intends it to.

Finnick freezes, like the rest of his brain is just now catching up to what his mouth said, and she half-expects him to take it back.

But he doesn’t.

“Yes.” He admits, sounding like he’s about to cry. “Yes, I want to marry you. But I know I can’t ask you to wait. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Annie replies by reaching up to kiss him, deeply and fiercely, trying to convey all of her feelings and assuage all his fears through her lips.

That’s too much to ask from a kiss of course, so when they part to catch their breath, Annie brushes her thumb over his ear and tells him, “You’re not asking me to wait, we’re together _now._ It doesn’t matter what we call it, this is just for us. But I’d also wait a million lifetimes to be with you.”

“I feel like I must’ve waited a million lifetimes for you.” Finnick whispers in return. “Because I must’ve lived a million lives in order to deserve someone like you.”

* * *

The next morning, he goes into the closed off room that his mother used to sleep in, and comes back with a simple wedding band. It’s not a precious metal like gold or silver, but some tarnished and scratched grey material - a remnant of life _before,_ when his family could barely afford to put food on the table, much less expensive jewelry. 

Later, she’ll fashion a long length of chain so that she can wear it safely tucked away under her shirt, but for now Annie watches with tears in her eyes as Finnick slips it onto her finger. 

“Someday,” he promises. 

She wipes the tears from her eyes and touches her fingers to his lips. It’s not salt water, but the intention is not lost on him.

“I’ll love you until we’re dust, Finnick Odair.”

* * *

They strip her of her clothes and possessions in the Capitol, and laugh when they find the ring.

“You stupid, crazy cunt.” Sneers the guard as he yanks on the chain and she cries for him not to take it. “You think you’re gonna get married? You’re gonna rot in here, and we’re going to shoot your traitor boyfriend in the head when we find him.” 

But they don’t take the ring. They let her keep it, something to cling to in her desperation. She rubs her fingers over it obsessively, turning the worn metal smooth. 

* * *

_(They take other things.)_

  
  


* * *

One night, President Snow comes to see her.

She’s not his main destination. Annie can hear him talking at length to the guards, mumbled words she can’t quite hear. He is in Johanna’s cell for maybe five minutes, and whatever he tells her has the brave District 7 Victor bursting into what might be frenzied laughter or tears (it’s hard to tell the difference anymore).

On his way out, he stops in at her cell. Doesn’t speak as he crosses toward where she is huddled on her cot, covered in nothing but a bedsheet.

“As we speak, District Thirteen is being bombed to oblivion.” He tells her, like he’s relaying a weather update. “It’s doubtful there will be any survivors.” 

Snow reaches forward and pulls the chain over her head. This time, Annie’s too exhausted and terrified to protest. 

“You won’t be needing this.”

He pockets the ring, pats the side of her head, and leaves the cell.

When the door shuts behind him, Annie lets herself scream.

* * *

“He’s alive,” the District Thirteen soldiers keep telling her, trying to calm her manic ramblings on the hovercraft. “Finnick’s alive, you’ll see him soon Annie, we promise.”

But she doesn’t know or trust any of them, and she shies away when they try to approach her and for all she knows it could be one big trick, yet another cruel joke, some drug induced dream to lull her into a sense of security, giving her hope, only for it to be snatched away and -

_Finnick!_

Pale and exhausted and thin and awful, simply awful looking, but _alive_ and _here_ and the most beautiful thing Annie has ever seen.

“Finnick!” She shrieks, and then they’re one person again.   
  
  


He’s crying, and whispering frantic things like _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ and _you’re safe, thank god you’re safe_ into her hair between kisses, and Annie digs her fingers into his back so hard that she’ll be finding bruises later.

“I thought you were dust.” She chokes out. “I thought they turned you into dust.”

Finnick lets out a hysterical laugh. “Never,” he promises, holding her face in his hands and shaking like he did during their first kiss. “I’d never leave you behind like that. You’re stuck with me Annie Cresta.” 

“Thank god.” Annie sniffs, and buries her face into his shoulder. _“Thank god.”_

* * *

“You want to do what?”

“A propo.” Plutarch Heavensbee explains gently, the way that someone might try to coax a beaten stray dog. Annie’s used to people talking to her like she’s made of glass, but since arriving in Thirteen she’s noticed people speaking that way to Finnick as well. 

“The revolution is - well, we’ve got a great momentum going obviously, and we’re starting to get to the home stretch, but everyone’s tired. What we need is something hopeful and positive to keep everyone focused so that victory doesn’t slip from our fingers. Something that will help remind everyone what we’re fighting for.” 

Plutarch pauses, looks at their blank faces, then continues doggedly: “Something like a _wedding,_ especially one between the two of you, would really provide the-”

“No.” Finnick says so immediately that Annie feels a burst of pride. Being contrary or difficult with authority figures isn’t something that comes easily to him anymore (sometimes she remembers the troublesome boy down on the docks, who used to laugh as he was chased off by dockhands for interfering with their work, and something painful twists in her chest). “No, we want to get married for real, not for the cameras.”

Plutarch sighs. “It _will_ be real, it would just also happen to be filmed. Cressida and her crew would be very discreet, you’d hardly even know they were there -”

 _“No.”_ Finnick insists, digging his heels in. His hand tightens around Annie’s and she’s sure he wants to say more to her, just not with Plutarch there.

“Can we have a bit to talk about it?” She asks Plutarch quietly, whose head whips to her in shock.

“Of course.” He replies after a few moments, obviously taken aback to hear her question. Annie doesn’t like strangers, or crowds, and being in District Thirteen where everyone is cramped together hasn’t been easy for her. Finnick, always the more social of the two of them anyway, usually is the one to speak in these sorts of situations. “Take all the time you need.”

“What is there to talk about?” Finnick questions her when they’re alone. With Plutarch gone all the defiance and anger has drained out of him, leaving just bewilderment. “This is just for us, remember? We don’t owe them anything, least of all _this.”_

Annie’s not sure that’s true - it was District Thirteen that sent the hovercraft and team that pulled her out of her personal hell, and while she knows Finnick isn’t happy about how _long_ it took them to do that… she’s grateful. Thirteen isn’t perfect and the people are strange, but they’ve treated her with far more kindness and humanity than the Capitol ever has.

That isn’t really what motivates her to consider the idea. “I want him to know.” She admits to Finnick, feeling petty as she does. “I want him to know that he was wrong. That he lost this fight, the same way he’s going to lose the war.”

Finnick’s eyes darken. She’s told him everything that she went through in the Capitol and Annie knows that it hurts him to realize that the same way she’ll never be the same person she was before the arena, she’ll likely never be the same person she was before being imprisoned. The girl she was before would have never wanted their wedding to be anything other than private.

But Annie knows she will never be allowed to fight in the war, that District Thirteen will never see her as anything other than a liability. This may be her only opportunity to feed the spark of rebellion she feels thrumming under her skin.

“I want to show him he hasn’t broken me. Hasn’t broken _us.”_

She watches as he ponders her words, his head tilted consideringly while the idea grows on him. “I do too.” Finnick admits, then his face softens. “I guess I also wouldn’t completely mind if the rest of the country saw it and it gave them something to be happy about. But if someone tries to feed us lines or anything-”

“We will break their cameras,” suggests Annie, smiling when Finnick gives an undignified snort at her answer. 

“And it’ll be our wedding day, so no one will even be able to yell at us for it.” 

“Honestly it may even be a little cathartic?”

“Oh Annie, you always know how to find the bright side.”

  
  


* * *

In the end, it doesn’t really matter that there are cameras there, because neither of them see them. They don’t have eyes for anything that day except each other.

They’re surrounded by mostly strangers, with only a few friends. Both their families have been lost to them years ago, and Mags’s absence stings like a freshly salted wound.

There’s no rings - Finnick’s mother’s ring is long gone, and District Thirteen sees no need for anything as frivolous as jewelry. 

But it doesn’t matter, because Finnick’s eyes are bright and swimming with tears as he touches Annie’s lips with salt water and whispers, too quiet for anyone but her to hear:

“I’ll love you until we’re dust, Annie Odair.”

  
  



End file.
